Memories of General Lee
I had never been a dog person. After Linda and I married, we had a couple of strictly outside dogs through the years; each of them had passed from the scene, and that was that. When she thought it was time for a new dog, she hijacked me by walking into my classroom in front of all my seventh grade students with the most adorable little bundle of fur--a little tri-color Pembroke Welsh Corgi. If I had said no, my students would have mutinied. "But he has to stay outside"! Famous last words.
And so General Lee came to live with us. I built a nice pen outside, under some big shade trees, with a sturdy house and room to run. There he spent the first few months of his life. As winter came on, it was not hard to convince me to let him come in when the weather got particularly bad; pretty soon his proud heart and loving ways made it easy to move him in except when we were at work each day.
Never was there a dog like Lee. Anyone that didn't love him immediately, needed a heart transplant! Even my dad, no dog lover, was often getting caught slipping him bites of meat under the table. Our son Aaron was 6 when Lee came to us; he barely remembers not having the General around. Lee was certainly top dog. We rarely traveled without him. He visited numerous states, even Canada, and of course was the center of attention at the Civil War reenactments that we participated in. He loved camping and was never afraid of gunfire and cannon fire. Occasionally we would rise in the morning and upon missing Lee, find him sleeping with some other lonely soldier! All the members of our group loved him.
Beyond our immediate family, my brother Kevin and my mother loved him as if he were theirs. Lee knew that they were family. Humorous it was to sneak up on my mother sitting in a chair, Lee with his front paws on her lap, Mother carrying on a personal conversation with the General. Kevin rarely failed to have a treat for him. I believe that it was because of Lee that Kevin finally decided to get a dog of his own, once he saw how wonderful one could be. Lee accepted Kevin's Merlin calmly and matter-of-factly.
In his prime, he could stand on his hind legs, and spin like a top as he begged for treats. He would put out his left paw to greet you (little Lefty), and of course multiple belly rubs were his favorite. When we brought home little Stonewall Jackson (Jack), Lee never protested. He was secure in his position--he knew he was top dog, so why worry about new dogs? Poor Jack, prone to seizures, would have a "spell" and Lee would always pace nervously while we worked on Jack. We could tell he was concerned about his brother Jack. Later, when we rescued another dog, pretty Shelby, Lee accepted her just like he did Jack.
Lee loved walking--at the park, in the woods behind the house, at my parents' house, wherever. Long hikes at the numerous state parks and national forest trails were heaven to him. The great chaser of bunnies, rats, and lizards, the mighty hunter. Only once did he get close to catching one, and its squeak terrified him. He never forgot it.
He loved everyone, but more than anything, he was Mom's dog. He worshipped Linda, and she him. Nothing made him happier than being near her, and when she left, his world was not complete until he returned. When we would leave him sometimes with my brother while we were out of town, he would usually fast for 2 or 3 days until he figured out that we were not coming back for a little while. But somehow he knew that we would return.
When he was 9 the Cushing's disease hit, then kidney stones and thyroid problems. He had surgery and even underwent chemo, never complaining or crying. Where he used to leap up the porch steps all at once, he could barely get up them without help. All the doctoring helped for a while, and actually bought him another year of life. The summer and fall of 2004 were good ones, with Lee showing some signs of his old self. We enjoyed one last gorgeous Ozark autumn together. But by Thanksgiving he was obviously failing again. He bravely made it through the Battle of Prairie Grove in December, even camping out in the cold. Christmas came and he was in pain--for the first time he would cry out when petted too hard or jostled. Could he make it to his 10th birthday? In January, the last indignity on a proud old dog--canine cognitive dysfunction. Much like Alzheimer's, he no longer knew us and would snap at us when startled. This was the dog that had NEVER snapped at or bitten anyone, ever. He would pace all night and get lost in a corner. Then finally he lost control of his bowels and bladder. The February Sunday morning came when he could not get up. I called Dr. Melton who could not meet us until that afternoon. It was my mother's birthday and we bravely celebrated it with her while the old General lay on his bed, stoic to the last. We hadn't told my mother--we didn't want to spoil her birthday--but as she and Dad were leaving, we told her. Almost too sad to do it, she nevertheless went to him one last time and rubbed his belly and talked to him the way she had so many times before, telling him goodbye. She cried all the way home.
That afternoon, with great difficulty because he was hurting so, we put him in the car for his last ride. We alternately talked to him and cried all the way to town, and Linda and I lay with him on the floor of the vet's office while the sedative took effect. Gently we lifted him up on the table, and we both held him tight for the final shot. In seconds he was gone, but the last thing he ever felt was us holding him.
We wrapped him in his blanket and placed him in the box that I had lovingly built for him days before for the final ride home. It was dark when we arrived so we set him on the porch, where Aaron sat with him in the dark and said his goodbye's in the way that a 15-year-old does.
The next day we buried him under the big shade trees in the exact spot where his pen had been when he first came to live with us. Gosh, it was muddy. I read the Rainbow Bridge poem, and some other letters and emails with music playing. Linda and Merlin stood on the big rock and cried--then the heavens cried, too. Aaron, Kevin and I took one last look at the General, placed his collar and leash in the box, along with treats from Kevin, and the three of us set him in and covered him up.
Jack, Shelby, and Merlin still look for him sometimes, especially when we call his name. Sometimes at night, we think we hear his feet padding through the house, on patrol, ever alert, watching over his people.
As much as Lee loved us, we loved him more. For 10 years he taught us more about unconditional love than I thought was ever possible to learn. Lee, you have a new brother now, little Winchester, another rescued shelter dog. You would love him just like you did the others. Because of you, we know that we have to save these little dogs that God created. We now know that God created dogs to teach us how to love. Think of it! Dog is God spelled backward!
We miss you Lee, and someday we will see you at the Bridge. Have fun, and keep being a good dog until we get there. I bet you are still the top dog!! I promise, we are coming!! Jeff, Linda, and Aaron